


Derorrim

by anr



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-22
Updated: 2005-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today never happened before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derorrim

**Author's Note:**

> _Bounty_ (the mirror!verse remix)  
>  "Dare You To Move" (Switchfoot).  
> Vulcan translations in mouseover.
> 
> Request: Trip/T'Pol/Archer mirror!verse fic set before _In A Mirror Darkly_.

_welcome to the fallout, welcome to resistance  
the tension is here, tension is here  
between who you are and who you could be  
between how it is and how it should be_

  


* * *

  


You wake in sheets that smell of him, smell of _you_ , and immediately regret having fallen asleep in the first place.

It has been over three weeks since the initial onset of fever and your continued presence here is fast becoming illogical. Pon'farr is a temporary condition... by now, you know, the fever should have passed, the itch beneath your skin for satiation should have faded...

Briefly, you wonder if maybe Phlox was right, if maybe he wasn't just trying to kill you through inaction...

No. You dismiss the thought immediately, as you have every other time it's entered your mind. It _is_ pon'farr. It _has_ to be. You find it inconceivable that you could be here for any reason other than biology.

You are just about to rise and leave when the comm sounds and, for the first time since waking, it occurs to you that you are not, as you assumed, alone here. (You refuse to analyse how such a lapse in personal safety could be possible.)

"Yeah?"

"Good morning, Commander." _Sato_. You fight an instinctive urge to roll onto your back, to protect your exposed flesh (even if it is just from the sound of her voice).

"What?"

"I'm really sorry to disturb you," she says, sounding anything but, "but I'm trying to contact someone on D-deck and the computer is telling me internal sensors are offline...?"

"Routine maintenance of the relay conduits. Be back online by twelve-hundred."

"Really?" She sounds disappointed -- and probably is -- but her tone is entirely too sweet for your liking. Idly, you wonder who she's trying to spy on today. "That long?"

"Can't hurry a high-level diagnostic."

Sato's voice turns soft and low (your skin crawls), "if you were to speed up the process, I could make it worth your while..." she starts, and he laughs unkindly.

"Sorry, _sweetheart_ ," he drawls, his accent deliberately thick, "but I prefer someone who can look me in my eye."

Instantly ( _finally_ , you think) Sato resumes her usual caustic tones, "and how is the Vuhlkansu kafeh today?"

She doesn't know you're here, this you know with absolute certainty. You are always careful when you come to him -- probably _too_ careful -- and he may be many things, but indiscreet is not one of them (it is one of the reasons why you settled for him). The moment your senses began returning you obtained his assurance that this... _situation_... would never be referenced and you've had no cause, so far, to doubt his vow of secrecy.

"How the hell would I know?" he pauses and, without even needing to see it, you just _know_ that he is smirking. "She usually meets with Archer on D-deck in the mornin's, though. Why don't you comm her and ask her yourself?"

The communication is severed half-way through a reference (assuming your Klingon can be trusted) to Tucker's mother's lineage, and for a long moment there is silence in the cabin. Then:

"I know you're awake."

You want to ask _how_ , but don't. Pushing yourself up from the mattress, you turn to face him. "There is nothing wrong with the relay conduits on D-deck."

He shrugs, but doesn't deny it. "Never hurts to be thorough."

Clothes are strewn across the floor still -- yours and his -- and you lean over the edge of the bunk to claim your shirt. When you straighten, his gaze takes a moment too long to rise back to your face. "Last week it was C-deck," you continue, dressing. "The week before that: B-deck."

"And next week it'll probably be E-deck." He shrugs again, this time with a narrow smile. "Gee, is it just me, or is there a pattern emergin' here?"

You ignore his sarcasm and leave the bed, reaching for your pants. "Captain Forrest will not allow these disturbances to the ship's systems to continue forever." But even as you say this, you wonder why you're bothering. Tucker's apparent lack of self-preservation is of no importance to you.

"Probably a good thing there's only seven decks then."

With a withering look, you head for the bathroom. You've less than forty minutes before your shift starts, and there are far more important places to be (Archer, you know, will only wait so long). Pinning back your hair, you turn the faucets on hard and splash your face, wishing you had time for a shower.

"Your concern _is_ touchin', though. Truly." Tucker, of course, has followed, and you look up from the basin to find him lounging against the doorjamb, a fist held against his chest as if saluting.

"It is entirely self-serving," you snap back. "Sato is not the only one who requires access to the sensors."

"Of course." He bows just a little, fist dropping. "My mistake."

You dry your face and straighten your shirt but when you make to leave, he raises a hand to the opposite jamb, blocking the way.

"Move." It is not a request but, then, neither was Archer's communique that you meet with him before your shift starts today to discuss your report on spatial anomalies. (You don't mind; you've sought Archer's undivided attention for too long to let something as unnecessary as politeness interfere.)

His free hand rises to your cheek, pushing the loose bangs of your hair behind your ear. You shake away, dislodging his touch.

"I do not have time for this." What you mean is, _I do not have time for **you**_ , and you're expecting a smirk, or some equally grating reply, because this is Tucker and he is consistent to a fault.

Palming the wall above your shoulder, he frames you there. "Archer wants everythin' he don't already have," he says quietly, surprising you, "and that's an admirable trait, sure -- one that will no doubt eventually give him all the power he desires so bad," he doesn't quite meet your eyes, "but those wants don't include Vulcans."

You don't react, but you do silently damn him for knowing you so well. (For just a moment, you wonder what might have happened if it had been Tucker captured by the Klingons, and not Archer. You could have accomplished so much more than satiation with Archer... could have guaranteed his loyalty, at the very least, _without_ the unwanted psychoanalysis.) " _Now_."

His arm drops and you move away, gathering your phaser and blade from the collection on the floor. "See you tonight," he says, his voice nowhere near as low and serious as it was a moment ago, and you look over your shoulder to see him smirking at you...

... and you think of his bed, not two feet from where you're standing, and how easy it would be to forget about Archer and pull this man back down into sheets that already smell of you both...

... _this has to stop_ , you think a little desperately, _now_...

... and maybe Phlox was right, maybe he wasn't, but you're better -- _stronger_ \-- than biology, you _know_ you are, and this feverfavourexperiment _whatever_ has gone on long enough.

You think of Archer, and all the opportunities to garner his trust you've almost missed recently because of Tucker.

"No," you say, "you won't."

And this time, you think, you mean it. 

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/219620.html>


End file.
